


Here be Pirates! or The Captain and the Stowaway

by beltainefaerie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BDSM, Dildos, Dom John Watson, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Established Relationship, FaceFucking, Flogging, M/M, PWP, Pirate John Watson, Pirates, Quarantine, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Sub Sherlock Holmes, consensual dub con fantasy, fantasy gang bang, light Knife Play, pretend public sex, role play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25556173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: Stuck in 221b during quarantine, John and Sherlock revel in the fact that you're never really too old to play pirates, (though my how the games have changed).
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 159
Collections: Isolated Johnlock Collection





	Here be Pirates! or The Captain and the Stowaway

**Author's Note:**

> *  
> Thanks to Merindab (janto123) for the quick read over. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Comments and kudos feed my muse and stave off depression in these trying times. If you liked it please let me know.  
> *

Quarantine. The whole city was basically on lockdown. No doubt it was a dreadful business for anyone and everyone, (except possibly manufacturers of disinfectants). But for Sherlock Holmes? Intolerable. 

Of course, at first he’d had experiments to work on. He’d finished analyzing pandemic data and for once actually listened to the health advisories. They were past the point of nervousness over either of them coming down with it, but neither would dream of passing it to Mrs Hudson, so they were stuck indoors. Groceries were delivered and wiped down. The kitchen was the cleanest John had ever managed and Sherlock even helped. 

Well, by helped, John meant that Sherlock had analysed a scrap of the sponge from the sink, tested the claims of several sanitizing wipes and found them remarkably valid. 

Then he’d left Lestrade messages with solutions to a half dozen cold cases, which he’d been ignoring in a dusty old box in the corner for ages. 

Finally, he’d run out of things to do and went to bed sometime yesterday and had been holed up in there for half the day.

John let him have his lie in, but it had nearly gone 2 in the afternoon. “Up you get, Sherlock. We’ve been cooped up for weeks. I know you’re going a bit crazy with it, but you aren’t tired. You should get out of bed, get dressed, or depression is going to completely overtake you. I usually let these moods run their course, but I don’t think we can survive it in quarantine.”

Sherlock made a sort of humph sound from beneath the mountain of pillows, sheets, blankets and duvet in which he was cocooned. “Don’t want to get out of bed. Join me instead?”

John smiled. “Are we building a pillowfort, then, or something else?”

“I was thinking... a story.” From his tone, Sherlock didn’t just mean any sort of story. He wasn’t particularly responsive to visual porn, but they had discovered, he was able to thoroughly immerse himself in erotica and role play.

Well, that could certainly be a cure for their boredom. It had been awhile and with all that had been going on neither had been much in the mood. John sat down on the bed.

An almost shy, muffled, “What if you were a pirate captain?” came from Sherlock, his head half-buried in the pillows. 

_Oh._

_One of those days,_ John smiled. He was naturally a fairly gentle lover. “The Captain” had no such concerns and could be as rough as Sherlock needed in certain moods. “A pirate captain, eh?” John asked, “And who are you, then? First mate? Cabin boy?” 

Sherlock shook his head. And peeked out at John. “Prisoner. Or… or stowaway.”

Despite Sherlock’s penchant for disguise when it came to the Work, in the bedroom, they didn’t usually go in for props and costumes, but both managed to get into whatever game they decided to play. With pirates, however, there was at least the flogger, and occasionally a dagger. Certainly their sex toys often came into play... 

John rose from the bed, planning a bit as he discarded his jumper and untucked his shirt. He thought he’d seen them… ah, yes. He picked up an unfolded map of the underground and there they were. He folded the map and set it aside, pushed the handle of the flogger into the side of his waistband and thrust the jewel-hilted dagger beside it into his belt, then shifted slightly, straightening his back. He strode back to the bed and peered down at Sherlock. 

In a few movements John had managed to take on that air of command that Sherlock relished. His breath quickened and he ducked further under the mound of pillows as if trying to hide. 

In his mind’s eye, John could almost make the bedding into barrels and flour sacks. There was a quick movement and he cried out, “Hey, there! What’s this? A stowaway?” John reached in and tugged Sherlock’s hair roughly until he knelt on the bed. “Not on my vessel. Out three weeks to sea already. You’ve clearly been stealing our stores to have lasted this long-- even if you do look a bit skin and bones. You ought to be thrown overboard for your thievery.”

Sherlock sniffed indignantly. “Such talk coming from a pirate. You make a fine living at thievery.”

John dragged him off the bed and shoved him unceremoniously to the floor. 

“We may live by what we can take from plundering the fat coffers of England and Spain, but we don’t steal food from the mouths of crewmen. Ought to gut you like a fish and toss you to the sharks.” The Captain said and reached menacingly for his dagger. 

“No, no, sir, please. I will pay you back for what I’ve taken somehow. I can cook or help swab the decks. I’ll scrub barnacles from the rowboats. My hands are deft from working my father’s fishing boats. I can mend the netting or…” Sherlock’s lower lip trembled and, goddamn it, his eyes were actually sparkling with tears as he pulled the sash on his dressing gown, letting it fall open. He closed his eyes, as if in shame, and the tears spilled down his cheeks. “Whatever you wish, sir.”

Captain Watson looked him over, licking his lips. _Christ, that strip of bare chest shouldn’t make me this hard,_ he thought. “You might not be entirely useless,” he sneered, “but first I need you to make up for your deceit.” He pulled the flogger from his belt.

The stowaway’s eyes widened for a moment and his voice trembled just so, as he asked, “Am I to be whipped, sir?”

In answer, the Captain hauled him to his feet and spun him around, stripping the dressing gown from his shoulders. He braced his captive against the closet door and wielded the flogger in a deft figure-eight pattern to rain blows on his shoulders and upper back.

Sherlock cried out, more theatrically than necessary, since John knew what he could take and this was barely a warm-up. “Still better than what you deserve, my boy.” He gave three quick flicks to each cheek of his captive’s arse, then added, “And I think the rest should not be below deck, either. The crew needs to see what happens to stowaways on my ship.” He tucked the flogger away and bent to pick up the discarded sash as the stowaway sniffed back tears and moaned mournfully at the prospect of being so publicly exposed. 

John fisted a hand in Sherlock’s curls and drew him upright by his hair, quickly bound Sherlock’s forearms together in front of him and marched him into the living room. “We have ourselves a stowaway!” the Captain announced gleefully, as though to his crew. 

He pushed Sherlock to his knees, then drew the flogger again. “Twenty strokes for stealing passage, and another twenty for any supplies you’ve stolen. Count them out for me.”

John pressed his heel to Sherlock’s back until he canted forward, balanced on his bound forearms and knees. He let the flogger fly, landing faster and harder, as his captive counted.

“One, Captain sir. Two, Captain sir...”

By the time he’d reached twenty, the little thief was panting and his back glowed a beautiful pink. John caressed the warm skin tenderly, giving Sherlock a chance to catch his breath. 

“Lovely,” Captain Watson breathed, barely audibly, and Sherlock relaxed, sighing and arching up into the touch.

He tugged on Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms. The waistband caught on Sherlock’s stiff cock and John reached around, giving him a few firm strokes before stripping him naked. “I think he likes this, my boys. Perhaps this isn’t punishment enough.” 

Sherlock whimpered and shivered, but Captain Watson only chuckled darkly and nudged Sherlock’s legs apart and began his next series of blows to Sherlock’s arse and thighs.

By the last strike, Sherlock was quivering and crying out, but had not faltered in his count. 

Nor, John noticed with delight, had his erection flagged. 

John dropped the flogger. “Oh, I think we’re going to have fun with this one. Smith, let the poor boy rest a moment, but do not untie him. Prepare him for my use and bring him to my quarters. No sampling the wares, mind! You’ll get a turn later.” adding in a slightly different voice, “Aye, aye Captain Watson, sir.”

John walked away to the bedroom. He set the dagger on the dresser, retrieved lube, and set out a series of insertables of various sizes. He planned to let the rest of the crew have a go with Sherlock until he begged for mercy or John’s arm gave out, and that required a bit of variety for believability. 

He stripped out of everything but his shirt, then grabbed the lube and returned to his captive. Sherlock lay on his side. His breathing had returned to normal. His hands looked good. “Captain Watson‘ll be back inna moment. Enough rest fer you,” he squawked in an accent which would have been ridiculous had they both not been so damn turned on. He wrestled Sherlock onto his elbows and knees. He stepped over Sherlock and straddled his waist, adding a bit of stability to the position. John knew the pressure would make him feel more (deliciously) trapped. He popped the cap and his cock throbbed at the way Sherlock struggled when ‘Smith’ drizzled lubricant between the cheeks of his arse. His struggles intensified and he cried out as rough fingers worked him open. The pirates were never delicate.

“That’s enough, Smith. You were told to bring him to my quarters,” the Captain barked.

Sherlock was unceremoniously hoisted over a shoulder and a few moments later dropped onto his back across a soft bed, sideways, so his legs dangled. Sherlock grunted, eyes squeezed shut. He trembled slightly. 

“This isn’t a show, Smith. Out!” the Captain barked.

There was a rustle of clothing, then the door closed and Sherlock opened one eye, peeking. 

The Captain, now fully nude and gloriously hard, sized him up. “Spread your legs, boy.” 

Sherlock’s eyes were wide and he did look rather frightened. That shouldn’t make John even harder, but he throbbed to watch him and, frankly, he knew from long experience that Sherlock would positively maul John if he stopped their games without a safeword. 

Captain Watson growled, “I should let them all have their way with you. All the way down to the lowest swabbie who wants a go.”

Sherlock whimpered more frantically, but held his position and not a safeword could be heard. 

The Captain smiled wickedly. “I think I will, but I claim the right of rank and I’ll have you first.” He picked up the dagger again, and held it to the stowaway’s throat. “You heard me. Wasn’t a request, laddie. I’ll not be asking you again.”

Sherlock blushed prettily and let his legs fall open. 

The Captain set aside the dagger and held up a polished wooden plug about the length of his palm. “Had this beauty specially made.” Without any further warning, he positioned the tip at his captive’s slick entrance and pressed firmly with the heel of his hand, until the base was snugly in place. 

Sherlock moaned softly. The Captain gave it a tug, then pushed it back in hard, making him cry out.

He chuckled darkly again, then stepped forward to straddle Sherlock’s head. Sherlock managed to look like he was gasping in shock while really just opening to swallow John down. The Captain wasted no time in thrusting straight down that throat. His brilliant little slag could not get enough of being facefucked, the delicious thrill of gasping for what breath he could muster between the relentless thrusts of John’s cock. He didn’t hold back, fucking merrily into the poor lad’s throat.

He wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s throat lightly, not choking really, but fueling the sense of menace and danger. God, he could feel his cock through Sherlock’s throat, the flesh pressing up against his palm as he thrust deep. It was too much. He held him in place and came hard as Sherlock sputtered and flailed. 

When his orgasm subsided, John stared fondly down at Sherlock. His eyes were watering, but as his breathing returned to normal, he smiled shyly and licked his lips. 

John grabbed one of his ties out of the wardrobe and bound Sherlock’s eyes with it. “Hands and knees now, and be quick about it.” Technically forearms and knees, but if his captive dared to point it out, John would delight in flogging him again while using his arse. 

Sherlock didn’t breathe a word, just rolled over, presenting his arse. 

“Good lad,” the Captain praised. He pulled the plug out and slicked a mid sized dildo, and tucked the bottle under his arm to warm. He’d need a bit of recovery time, but there was no reason to let Sherlock cool down. He held the toy at the right angle and pushed it in slowly. 

Sherlock groaned and pushed back, bucking against it already. 

“Greedy for it, are you?” John laughed. 

Sherlock rolled his hips and John began to thrust, using him mercilessly. 

Sherlock’s cock was leaking onto the sheets below. His legs began to tremble and he clamped down. Heat pooled in John’s groin as his own cock began to thicken. He could usually make Sherlock come at least once before he was hard again, but he wasn’t so sure today.

John shoved the toy in hard and deep, in a series of shorter thrusts, then stilled for a moment as if the crewman was coming. As he withdrew, he drizzled a little of the warm lube, so it felt like come, dribbling out of Sherlock’s hole. 

Sherlock groaned softly, dismayed to be empty again. He dropped his hips, seeking friction against the sheets and his hole pulsed, as if his arse itself could beg to be filled.

John was fully hard again, but enjoying the delicious ache of it. He babbled some nonsense about the next man and selected the next toy. The purple silicone cock was as thick as his own, but slightly shorter. He used a gravelly voice to intone, “Think I’ll take my time with this one. Look at him, all desperate for it. I don’t think he’ll run.” He pushed Sherlock onto his side, subtly checked for lividity in his fingers as he untied the sash that bound his arms. All was well. “There, love. Shake ‘em out. Don’t make me sorry about that, neither, or I’ll bind you to the mast.” After a moment, he grabbed Sherlock around the waist and hoisted him up to kneeling again, this time upright, cradled against John’s chest. He slid the toy in about an inch, then withdrew. 

Sherlock whimpered and tried to push back, but he was held firmly in place.

The crewman ran a finger over his pebbled nipples and tsked. “Take what I give you, poppet.”

Inch by inch, the well-used lad was filled again. Enter and retreat, enter and retreat; building up, until the new toy was finally fully seated. The crewman’s hands slipped lower, possessively, fondled his bollocks, then gave his neglected cock a tug.

“Yes,” Sherlock hissed softly, barely audible even in the quiet room.

John hummed appreciation and stroked him again. “I think we should keep that mouth of his busy too.” He grabbed a large silicone cock with a suction cup base and mounted it against the headboard before dragging Sherlock over to it. 

As Sherlock mouthed it eagerly and began to suck, John offered jeers and encouragements aplenty as the captain or the crew and he was certain there were at least eight crewmen in Sherlock’s fantasy. 

“Enjoying yourselves, me hearties?” Captain Watson cried out. 

Sherlock moaned and took the toy deep into his throat. 

John simulated orgasm again with the toy in Sherlock’s arse, then pulled him off the cock at the headboard and spun him around so he could mount it. 

It took him a few tries, but he managed, fucking himself on it as John captured his mouth in a kiss, rough and claiming. 

When he released Sherlock, pushing his head down. This time, John let Sherlock control the blowjob. 

He laved John’s balls, sucking them each gently into his mouth before licking up his shaft and tonguing at the slit. John groaned as Sherlock finally took him into his mouth, working his body back and forth between impaling his throat with John’s cock and his arse with the crewman behind. 

John leaned forward and reached down to grip Sherlock’s throbbing cock loosely, then didn’t move, making Sherlock work for it. For several long minutes, Sherlock teased himself, filling his own mouth, his arse, and now masturbating in John’s hand, not quite tight enough for him to get off, until his eyes brimmed with tears. His groans vibrated along John’s cock. He was so beautiful when he was this used. Wrung out and desperate, Sherlock whimpered in frustration, loving the attention, but trying to communicate how much he needed to come. 

At last, John released him, pulling out of his mouth. He shifted around and grabbed Sherlock’s hips, as if he was the crewman finally taking control of the action, forcing him back onto the cock for a final few thrusts before pushing him away.

Sherlock lay on his side and, now that his mouth was free, was begging, nearly incoherent with need.

The Captain returned. John’s own voice steeped with command was unmistakable. “Not quite yet. I want another go.”

John drew the scabbard of the dagger down Sherlock’s back. He cried out, so far gone he couldn’t tell it was sheathed. 

“There, there. Almost done now. Take your captain one more time.”

Sherlock spread his legs and lowered his head submissively as the Captain asked, “Who do you serve?”

“You, Captain Watson, sir.” Sherlock answered, immediately.

“That’s right. You’re one of us now. Just hold out a little longer. I’ll let you come when I’m ready.”

He tossed aside the dagger and flipped Sherlock over, sliding easily into his abused hole. One edge of the blindfold had slipped up, but John could see Sherlock’s eyes were screwed shut in concentration, trying to be good, trying to keep from spilling before he was allowed. 

John smiled. _So good for me_. He rolled his hips, savoring Sherlock’s moans. He was trembling slightly with the effort to hold back and John was overcome. 

Sherlock’s voice would be hoarse from use, husky for days. He’d feel this session all week. 

He swiped his fingers through the river of precome on Sherlock’s belly and held his fingers to Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock licked them clean as John took him slow and deep.

“There’s a good lad. Taste how much you need this. How your body craves this. I think you’ve earned a fine place here, and a reward.” John braced his hands on either side of Sherlock and redoubled his efforts. It was time for both of them to find release. 

“Now, love. Give me your pleasure. That’s it. Come for your captain.”  
  
Sherlock’s whole body quivered and he sobbed as he spilled his come onto his stomach and chest, his arse pulsing around John’s cock. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him, until at last, he was boneless and pliant as John followed him over. 

“You took us all so well,” John murmured as he eased out. “Should paint a picture of this and hang it in my cabin. You look positively wrung out.” He paused a moment, caressing whatever he could reach. 

Sherlock shivered and blushed to the roots of his hair. 

_Fuck, he was even more gorgeous like that_ , John thought. After a few minutes, he added, “You loved it, did you? At the mercy of a whole crew. Positively filthy.” John said fondly, somehow elevating that word to a kind of blessing.

“Yes, John.” Sherlock pressed in close and whispered, “As long as they’re all you. Thank you.”

John held him. “Always, Sherlock.” He kissed Sherlock’s temple. “I love you.”

Sherlock hummed contented acknowledgement. They should clean up, but for now it was enough to lie here, in John’s arms “Love you, too,” he murmured dreamily as John stroked his hair.


End file.
